“My lord.” Cedric’s jaw tightened around the words as he turned to face Lord Leviathan Church in the flesh, dressed in a formal black robe, cane held in front of him. Silence stretched between them, the heat under his skin rippling as Cedric longed to close the distance between Elyria and himself.
“I am relieved to see you returned home,” said Lord Church. “You are well?”
“Yes, my lord. Thank you.” Cedric bounced a fist on his chest. “Hale and hearty.”
“Then I am glad to hear it. Though, I admit I’d hoped to see your hale and hearty self much sooner. Do you not think this was cutting ita little bit close?”
Cedric’s cheeks heated. “Apologies, my lord. I wanted to ensure I’d exhausted every possible avenue before returning from Paideus. It was...a lot of books.”
Lord Church chuckled before extending an arm to Cedric’s shoulder and clapping down firmly. “And?” He took a step closer, lowered his voice. “Have you garnered any information on the location of the lost princess?”
“I’m sorry, my lord. The magisters sent out a few requests for some final tomes that might give us a new lead. They will be sent here, to the palace library.”
“I see. It was time well spent, then?” Lord Church arched a brow. “Worth the time, expense, and effort of having you gone for weeks?”
Cedric bit the inside of his lip. He didn’t know what to say, so he simply braced himself for the thing he knew was coming next.
“Portentia asked after you every day. Have you seen her yet? She is around here somewhere.”
“I have not yet had the pleasure, my lord. But, of course, I will be glad to see her again.” Cedric swallowed. “She is one of my dearest friends.”
Lord Church’s eyes narrowed, his grip on Cedric’s shoulder tightening. “And what we discussed before you left? Have you given any more thought to?—”
Lord Church cut himself off, his gaze tracking behind Cedric just as another round of gasps raced around the room. Cedric couldn’t keep himself from following the commotion, breaking free from Lord Church’s grasp, his eyes immediately finding Elyria. She’d vanished her wings once more, her magic leaving the scent of almonds and cherries wafting through the room. It took every ounce of Cedric’s willpower not to inhale deeply, to soak in that sugar-and-poison scent.
“Always such a show with that lot. Boorish.” Lord Church’s lip curled as he observed Elyria, and defensiveness flared in Cedric’s gut.
Lord Church hummed faintly, tilting his head. “Arcanian magic is impressive, that much I will grant them.” He sounded wistful. “Though one might argue the display a touch...ostentatious. Not exactly the image of restraint His Majesty and I were hoping for this evening.”
Cedric had to actively keep his hands from curling into fists at hissides. “She stumbled,” he said quietly. “Her wings came out to prevent her from falling. I don’t believe there was any ill intent behind it.”
Lord Church smiled again, though it didn’t reach his eyes. His voice dripped with condescension when he said, “Oh, dear boy. You do see the best in people, don’t you?”
It wasn’t a question.
“I try, my lord.”
“Hold onto that, son.” The lord looked pensive, some emotion flashing across his face. Affection? Regret?
It was gone too fast for Cedric to be sure.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, the king is nearly ready for his grand entrance. Let us hope that will be the only additional spectacle that remains this evening, yes?” Lord Church’s amber gaze flicked back to Elyria before returning to Cedric. “Tomorrow morning,” he continued, as if it had already been decided. “My study. I expect a full accounting of what you and Sir Hale found. Or, I suppose, what you didn’t find.”
“Of course, my lord.”
“And Cedric”—the lord’s voice softened just a fraction—“do spare Portentia a moment or two tonight, if you can. I believe you two have much to discuss as well.”
The reminder cut through Cedric’s rising frustration like a dagger. He offered the lord a shallow nod, his chest tight.
Satisfied, Lord Church turned, melting into the crowd. Cedric exhaled through his nose, every muscle in his body locked tight as his gaze sought Elyria once more. The room was beginning to right itself. The music resumed. Nobles turned away, ceased staring at Elyria quite as directly—well, some of them did, anyway. Cedric noted the continued glares of more than a few attendees scattered throughout the room.
She, too, had resumed her performance. Chin lifted. A bold smirk on her mouth. That unbothered air he knew she affected when she was pretending like she didn’t care. It wasn’t cold, though. Wasn’t quite that same mask of icy indifference she’d worn in the Crucible. She still had that glint in her eye, the spark of wild in her spirit peeking through.
It made Cedric’s own fire flicker in response.
A broad grin broke out across her face as she said something to the man standing next to her. Cedric realized with dumbfoundedsurprise that the person she’d been conversing with was, in fact, a rather smug-looking Tristan.
Cedric began moving toward the pair, stupidity making the back of his neck feel hot. He hadn’t even recognized his friend.
